


FAQ

by amasianfish



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amasianfish/pseuds/amasianfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who are you?"</p><p>It's a question you hear often, a question you grow tired of hearing.</p><p>You know how she would have answered the query.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FAQ

"Who are you?"

It's a question you hear often, a question you grow tired of hearing.

You know how she would have answered the query.

( _Concerned third party_ , she would have drawled, while examining and cleaning her piece. The response is a habit she picked up from Harold's lackey. Annoying when he uses it, endearing when she does.)

Instead, you reply with an enigmatic answer that's not much of an answer at all, and shift your gaze away, tilting your head to the right. You don't hear Her.

"What's going on?"

You roll your eyes and stare at the opposing wall in disdain. Everyone is the same. Humanity remains a stagnant race, stuck in an endless loop of the same questions and the same problems.

( _Look, whatever your name is. I don't really care what you did, but you got yourself into this mess. I'm trying to get you out of it._ )

You disinterestedly explain to him that  _he's necessary,_ and _you'll find out when you get there._ Curiosity, the need for a response, is such a universal trait no matter the country or language, and it irritates you. Nothing matters in the end. It's all just meaningless code.

"Why are you helping me?"

The mark prattles on about how you look like you'd rather be doing anything else than sit with him at this dilapidated bookstore, untouched drinks in front of you getting colder by the minute, pregnant women with strollers chatting with their neighbors, the desk clerk looking at a group of teenagers suspiciously, and you can't help but silently agree with him. 

( _She's not a fan of books. Something about being surrounded only by them for a week. She became even crazier, if you can believe it.)_

You smirk as you're reminded of those days of dust and pages and tea and ankle bracelets, a time that seems so far away from where you've come. 

"Why are you smiling at me?"

( _She's not smiling at you.)_

The mark has a look of apprehension on his face, and you suppose you can't blame him. You dragged him out of his car at gunpoint because he wouldn't go willingly, mere moments before his shiny new Audi turned into a pile of expensive metal and rubber. His fault for getting mixed up in money laundering. Not that She saw it that way. Every life matters, right? Except hers, apparently. The only one you give a damn about.

That time in the library, locked away against your will. You harbor no ill feelings toward Harold, though you suppose most people would have. You don't think it was all part of a big plan, some lesson She was trying to teach you. No, it was paranoia. Harold's paranoia and distrust, which ultimately led to loss. You think about how starkly different that was to your own loss. No paranoia, no distrust. Yet it still resulted in bullets and blood and a broken person left behind. 

You robotically and logically list the chain of events that led him to this moment, all with a condescending smile on your face. Death in the family. Needed money. Talked to some bad guys. Began illegal activities. Got greedy. Double-crossed said bad guys. Bomb strapped underneath a shiny new Audi, unoriginal in your opinion. Saved by a crazy woman in a leather jacket and a dark disposition.

"It was never supposed to go this far."

The mark picks at his coffee cup, and you detect a slight sense of regret. It's nothing compared to your own.

( _Yeah, well. Figure out your shit. You'll have a second chance once we get rid of these guys that are after you.)_

We. You want so badly to be a we again.

Every conversation with every mark goes the exact same way. It's predictable, boring, unnecessary. You could be doing far more important things. You truly don't understand why She is having you go on these errands day after day after day. It only reinforces your lack of faith in humanity.

The big picture? That's Hers, and you damn well know it. You know internally that in the grand scheme of things, following Her bidding is wiser and more crucial to the war and survival than blazing through anyone in your path to look for her. But you also know that you don't really care anymore, not as much as you used to. Your faith is lost. The moment that pay phone rang and you saw Harold's script, a regurgitation of his own words, She lost you. 

You half-heartedly tell the mark that he can begin again someday, and mutter that he will hopefully make smarter choices next time. You just need to get rid of the dead weight after the mark.

She hisses through your implant. Impeccable timing, of course. You stand up abruptly, putting a finger up to your lips, reaching for your gun with the other hand. You tilt your head again to listen intently, but She doesn't give you much. Three targets outside the building, that's all She told you.

It's like clockwork. Save the mark, get barely any information, feel the need to rip out your implant and abandon the mission, save the mark anyway. Sometimes almost die.

"Really, who the hell are you?"

Who are you? You can't tell anymore, not since an elevator, a gunshot, a taser, a drill, and a camera's silence.

_(You're a pain in the ass.)_

You grin and motion for the mark to follow you, walking towards the back exit, and glance back to where you were sitting.

You almost playfully call for her to come quickly, what is she waiting for, and you anxiously look for a waterfall of black hair on a black cloth backdrop, and then you remember.

 _(I only exist in here now, Root. Until you come find me.)_  

You will find her, you promise. After you save this mark that She ordered you to save. Then you can come find her.

(You try and forget that you said that the last time, too.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> idk how well this worked out, but it's supposed to be canonically how Root's all in her head and imagining things in her grief after Shaw disappeared. It could fill in the times between 4x14 and 4x18 where we have no idea what she's doing or her relationship with the Machine. Root is very confused and muddled in her grief, so it's supposed to portray that a little bit.


End file.
